


There are no Female NASCAR Drivers

by Daughter_of_Rivia



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Female Tony, Female Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 15:12:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13343850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_Rivia/pseuds/Daughter_of_Rivia
Summary: Tony Stark is a genius, she's aso a teenage girl who's father has just died.





	There are no Female NASCAR Drivers

Thousands had shown up to see the late, great Howard Stark take a dirt-nap. Tony had stood there in the heeled shoes that rubbed her feet raw and smiled tightly at every son-of-a-bitch and well-wisher talk on and on about how great her father had been and how they would eagerly await her great future. Tony just wanted a cheeseburger. 

Obadiah had arranged canapés and amuse-bouche like it was some fucking society function and he was there to network. He’d kept a bruising grip on her elbow the entire wake and showed her off to everyone like a show horse, bragging about her achievements as if they were his own. She’d felt his eyes on her all night, like those of a predatory big-cat eyeing a gazelle, she tasted bile at the back of her throat at the thought. Tony wondered if anyone here had actually met Howard, or if they were just there to kiss Obadiah’s ass. Maria hadn’t even bothered to send condolences - the last Tony had heard she was shacked up in Mexico with her latest fling. 

The wake was held in the Stark house in Long Island, or she supposed it was her house in Long Island now. The fucking vultures circled every inch of her home as if it were the desert after a gunfight in the Old West. If only, she thought. At least then they’d leave her alone.  
Obadiah’s attention was caught by one of the press that he’d invited for the occasion, as though the act of Howard Stark kicking it somehow made him a star. Tony slipped away from him at the same time she slipped out of her shoes, carelessly leaving them where they fell. She manoeuvred her way through the mass of vultures, tore the dress from her body, and clad herself in her armour of her favourite Black Sabbath t-shirt and cut off shorts. She bolted her bedroom door behind her.

Across the floor lay a mass of odd tools and wires, there were washers and pieces of circuitry haphazardly cast onto the bedcovers as though elevated to a state of importance simply by being there, truthfully she’d pulled them out of her pockets and they had remained there forgotten. As Tony sat with her back against her bed, she felt her finger brush what felt like a piece of paper under it. She dragged the paper out from under the bed and found that it was an old birthday card, most likely absentmindedly discarded long before she had left for boarding school.  
The cover had the standard images of birthday celebration, but inside, rather than the customary ‘HB Kiddo - Dad’ she had grown accustomed to, the card was filled on both sides with writing.  
She could count on one hand the number of meaningful conversations she’d had with her father, none of which were particularly heart-warming. Every conversation between Howard and Tony Stark could be boiled down to her either not meeting his expectations (of social and academic achievement), and Howard criticising her for everything she did. There was no pleasing Howard, so Tony had given up trying.  
Ever since she could remember Howard had always swung back and forth between demanding that she act like a ‘proper young lady’, and treating her with the aloof masculine nonchalance to be expected of a man born in the before women’s suffrage, Howard Stark, innovative and intelligent as he was, could not grasp that hiring nannies, bodyguards, tutors and paying for boarding schools did not equate to raising and loving your child.  
Tony read the words her father had written, the near-illegible handwriting a testament to its authenticity as the words of Howard Stark’s own hand, and her eyes began to water without her permission. 

“Dearest Antonia...” the message ran, and depicted a heartfelt and loving declaration so heartfelt and loving, she would never repeat them. She could barely reconcile that they had been written by the man whom for so long she had been convinced care nothing for her beyond her purpose of continuing of his genes. Tony wished that she had never read the stupid card; that one of the countless maids had thrown it out before she found the fucking thing. Her whole life she had believed that the man hated her, that his legacy and his precious Captain America were the only things that mattered to him, and now she knew that to be a lie. 

She had built herself around the act of being utterly contrary to Howard Stark and his concept of legacy - on intentionally doing the opposite of what he asked of her. She had been certain that he despised her at worst and was indifferent to her existence at best. Oftentimes she had wondered if he would have treated her better had she been born a boy. She imagined that his casual dismissal of her and his lack of attention would be turned to pride had she been his son and heir, not the contrary daughter that he had no idea what to do with. She had never allowed herself to believe, even for a moment, that he had cherished her and loved her the way that only a parent can love their child. Tony furiously rubbed her eyes free of any traitorous tears as she heard a knock at her door. Only Rhodey ever knocked at the door, everyone else just tried to barge their way in, the thought of knocking never occurring to them.

“Password,” she demanded hoarsely.

“Bacon double cheese.” James Rhodes. voice sounded muffled through the door. 

Tony shot up from the floor, pulled back the lock, and dragged Rhodey into the room, bolting the door behind him. 

“Where is it?” she demanded, seeing no cheeseburger in his hands. 

“Calm it short-stack,” he batted her hands away “I had to sneak it past the flavour-police.” Rhodey took out a Burger King bag from the inside of his jacket and handed it over to her.

Tony fell back onto her bed, heedless of the mass of washers and wires littering the sheets, and devoured the cheeseburger. Rhodey took up her vacated spot on the floor, his back against her bed.

“You wanna’ talk?” he asked, deliberately not looking at her. 

“I really don’t.” She threw the now-empty burger wrapper across the room, not even cheering (as was her custom) when she got it through the mini-basketball hoop and into the bin.

“Okay,” He murmured back, and laid his head back against the bed.

“Rhodey,” Tony called, her voice hoarse,

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t leave me.” she fumbled her words as though it were her first time speaking then, her hands turned white with how tightly she gripped her knees, and she steadfastly avoided meeting his eyes. 

Rhodey didn’t answer her; instead he glanced at the bin she’d thrown the wrapper into.

“I only had enough cash for one burger.” He complained. 

“I’ll get you one some other time.” Tony dismissed him, casually.

“You could have shared it,” Rhodey insisted.

“You said ‘bacon double cheese’ by way of a password, ergo the entrance fee to the Fortress of Solitude is one cheeseburger” She gestured wildly with her hands as she spoke, no longer white from the death-grip they had held on her knees. 

“You didn’t even offer to share.”

“Well old guys like you shouldn’t be eating processed meat, it’s bad for your cholesterol, I'm saving your life really.” Tony spoke quickly, barely taking breaths between her words, but Rhodey was used to deciphering her caffeine induced phone calls at four in the morning, in comparison this was nothing. 

“You’re a little shit, is what you are.” Rhodey scoffed. 

“I prefer the term ‘precocious’.” Tony didn’t miss a beat. 

“Precocious little shit.” Rhodey murmured under his breath. “It was a double-XL, more than enough to share.”

Tony sat up and shoved Rhodey away from the bed with her foot. “I'm saving you from becoming a fat-ass, you know what they say, you hit forty and you gotta’ start watching what you eat.”

“I’m only ten years older than you, little shit!” Rhodey pulled her by the leg so she fell flat on her ass beside him. 

“Practically old enough to be my father –” Tony froze has if someone had struck her. 

She had never been more thankful when Rhodey looked away, deliberately not hugging her or offering paltry condolences or reassurance. Instead Rhodey stood up and found her a pair of shoes and threw a pair of socks at her head.

“We’re gettin’ outta’ here, grab your shit.” Rhodey told her, not waiting for her to respond as he walked through the door.

Tony scrambled to get her shoes and socks on, tripping in her haste before following him out of her bedroom. He’d been to her house enough times to know to leave via the servants’ door. (And wasn’t that a piece of elitist crap – having a fucking servants’ door? Howard had insisted when they first moved in.) Tony didn’t bother to close the door behind her. Obadiah acted as if everything of Howard’s belonged to him now, so let him deal with banal shit like closing the doors and windows. 

Rhodey didn’t have a top of the line show-car like Obadiah, or a perfectly restored classic car like Howard, he had a run-down piece of crap that he’d worked his ass off to be able to afford. It was one of the reasons Tony loved him, and not that school-girl hot-older-guy way, or in any way that was romantic for that matter.  
Tony loved Rhodey they way that she loved math, it was a deep emotional connection that made her feel like a functional person. He made her better. Tony would never admit it out loud, and if anyone had asked her she’d shut down tighter that Fort Knox, but Rhodey was her first, and only friend. Perhaps it was the fact that until she had been shipped off to an all girls’ boarding school she had only had tutors, or maybe it was the fact that her not exaggerated genius level intellect made it hard for her to connect with other people, let alone children, but Tony had never been good at making friends. 

Her introduction to her the girls in her dorm had been short and disastrous. It could have been the fact that the other girls were more interested in Christian Slater than theoretical physics or that Tony’s last rebellion had been to cut her own hair (awfully), which made her look far younger than she was. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for the other girls to brand her as too weird to bother with. 

“Heads up, shorty,” Rhodey called, “We’re here.”

Rhodey pulled the car in front of a crappy looking shop-front. The paint was peeling from the walls, the garbage cans were either overflowing or knocked over, likely by some punk trying to impress his punk-friends. The gold lettering of the sign above the door had long since peeled away leaving only the letters ‘OX GYM’.  
Rhodey took out his keys and pushed open the door, a little bell rang as he allowed the door to swing back, nearly knocking Tony on her ass for the second time that night. 

“Hey!” She complained, catching the door with her arm. 

“You snooze, a door hits you in the face, short-stack.” Rhodey teased, throwing her a pair of hand wraps. 

“Are these even sanitary?” She wrinkled her nose at the suspiciously grey hand wraps, “They look like you found them in a dumpster.”

“I did.” He said, wrapping his own hands with a red pair of wraps. “Winners get red, cheeseburger hogs get sweaty-dumpster hand wraps.”

“This is unconstitutional, Mr. Future-Marine.” Tony glared

“Then take it up with Congress, otherwise wrap your hands and get in the ring, short-stack.”

“I’m gonna beat you so bad that you’re gonna have to stop calling me that.” Tony declared, giving in and wrapping her hands with the dumpster-wraps. 

“You’ll have to get a footstool first.” Rhodey grinned, slipping his wrapped hands into a red pair of focus-pads, setting aside his gloves to the edge of the ring.

Tony grabbed the small pair of gloves Rhodey had thrown at her after she finished wrapping her hands, and put them on with practiced ease. “You’re going down Rhodes.”

“Bring it on, Tiny”

Despite the bravado of trash talk, Tony only lasted a minute of taking hits at Rhodey before she started crying. She hated crying – she’d suffered too many of Howards lectures of needing to ‘man up’ to be comfortable with the ugly, snotty mess she became when she cried. 

“I still don’t wanna’ talk.” She sniffled, awkwardly trying to wipe her nose while still wearing her boxing gloves. 

“Okay.” Rhodey still didn’t meet her eyes as he took the focus pads off of his hands. 

“And I don’t wanna’ go back to the wake either.” Tony kept sniffling, her nose still running badly.

“Okay.” Rhodey un-wrapped his hands and rolled the wraps up then putting them back in his bag.

Tony tore back the Velcro straps of her gloves with her teeth, and removed the gloves and wraps before she mustered the courage to look over at Rhodey. 

“I found this stupid card from my dad, from like forever ago,” she swallowed, “Bastard said he loved me.”

Rhodey remained silent. She loved him for that – knowing when not to speak.

“What kind of asshole does that – ignore their kid their whole life and tell them they love them in a fucking birthday card they’ll never see?” Tony’s voice was thick from crying and broke a little as her pitch increased.

“Your dad was a dick.” Rhodey stated, utterly without contempt or disdain.

“Yeah, he was.” Tony spat. 

“He was your dad, though.” Rhodey’s voice was kind without being patronising.

“Yeah.” Tony murmured, her eyes downcast.

“It’s okay to miss him, you know.” Rhodey said calmly “Even if he was a dick. Most dads are dicks - I think it’s a requirement.”

“Stupid macho bullshit,” Tony agreed, furiously wiping her eyes while she cleared her throat. “You know he tried to get me to go to Harvard just ‘cos he wished that he could’a gone there? Bought me the sweater and everything – took him three semesters to realise that I was going to MIT.”

The anecdote was a tired one, but Rhodey smiled obligingly anyway. 

“Remember that time you convinced me to take pictures of you on Harvard’s campus just so you could convince him you were going there?” Rhodey nudged her shoulder with his.

“In my defence he was stupid enough to believe it, and you benefited just as much as me.” Tony rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

“I got chased off campus by security and you disappeared with the getaway car.” Rhodey hit her arm with the back of his hand.

“You should have run faster, I was preparing you for basic training.” Tony spoke in her standard fast pace, dry manner.

“This was before I even applied to the forces.” Rhodey said incredulously.

“There you go, I helped you realise your direction in life.” Tony gestured her hands as though presenting him with a gift.

“Little shit.” Rhodey scoffed fondly.

“Statistically speaking 5’1 is not that short for a woman.” Tony huffed.

“For a hobbit, maybe.” Rhodey quipped.

Tony rolled her eyes while pulling her knees into her chest. Rhodey did the same and they sat comfortably in silence while the clock on the wall seemed to grow louder with each passing second. 

“I don’t know what I'm gonna do, Rhodey,” Tony whispered, her voice barely audible as though the words burned her tongue as she spoke them. “Its all gone to shit.”

“You’re Tony-fucking-Stark.” Rhodey said strongly, “You do whatever the fuck you want, and don’t let anybody tell you different. You wanna’ be a fucking astronaut, you do it. You wanna’ be a brain surgeon, you fucking do it. You wanna’ be a NASCAR driver, you fucking do it.”

“There are no female NASCAR drivers.” 

“Who gives a shit – you’re Tony Stark? You’re the dumbest smart person I know. Sometimes short-stack, if you don’t like the way the world treats you then fucking change the world.”

“One person can’t change the world, Rhodey.” She whispered.

“They always have.” He said.

Rhodey shoved her playfully after a pause, “C’mon,” he called as he stood up, “You owe me a cheeseburger.”


End file.
